and love just like blood will always stain
by Lucky Dice Kirby
Summary: ‹mellomatt›‹oneshot› If you stopped following him for even a second, you’re not really sure there’d be anything left of you.


_--and if I could reverse it I don't think that it'd be worth it 'cause I know in my heart I would never let you tumble to the--_

You kind of like the summer, really. There're no snowball fights or sledding (Not that there are any good sledding hills near the Wammy's House, but you can dream) or hot chocolate, but Roger doesn't approve of snowball fights, and Mello always bitches about hot chocolate not being real chocolate, which can get pretty annoying after the first ten times you've heard it.

It's a really, really good thing that the Wammy's House wasn't built in some place like Antarctica or Russia or anyplace where it was always cold, because then Mello would probably already be a convicted murderer, not that it's likely he won't be someday. During the winter, pretty much his only outlets for his constant frustration is ranting at you for hours on end and generally making himself annoying as fuck, or throwing snowballs (Iceballs, more accurately, because Mello's an evil bastard like that) at anybody he can find. He averages about two hours in Roger's office a day, in the winter.

The summer's a bit better, because he can play football with the other kids and even if he kicks the ball at their heads, it's not like anyone can prove he did it on purpose. And you're sure that if he couldn't make fun of Near for never going outside, his inferiority complex would find some way to get that much bigger (Current size: All of Great Britain plus the continental United States. You think it might be time to add a couple of the Hawaiian Islands, or maybe Puerto Rica.) During the summer he can pretty much run around and do whatever he wants, because even Roger has to agree that all the students need some time to just be kids, or else you're all going to go completely insane one of these days. It's too late for Mello, but it's not like that's news to anyone, least of all you.

xxx

When you came to the Wammy's House, you weren't all that optimistic. It sounded boring, and you planned to spend most of your time holed up in your room playing games.

That's what happened, for the most part, but you didn't account for an insane roommate with girly hair a penchant for slugging people and generally making an ass of himself. You mentioned this to him on your second day there, and it earned you a black eye, and him a split lip.

After a while, the two of you had a sort of system worked out. A sort-of-friendship, if you will. Basically, you helped him with whatever he needed help with, be it hacking into the Wammy's House's files or spray-painting the walls, and wouldn't try to beat him in the class standings, not that you cared. In return, he never beat you up (Not that he could; you'd kick his ass), and he never complained about you smoking in the room (You had to keep it to a minimum, anyway, or Roger or somebody would smell it.)

You didn't really care what Mello did, as long as it didn't hurt you. His business, and all. Whenever you found yourself getting roped into helping him with his crazy schemes, you had to admit, it was pretty fun. Beat studying, that was for sure.

Studying. It was the one thing you never really got about Mello. Once you knew about his slight (Understatement of the century) insanity, it wasn't a big deal, but the whole thing about beating Near, it just didn't make much sense to you. They were just stupid grades run by stupid adults, who really cared? But Mello would stay up until he couldn't anymore, studying and studying, but he was always second. Well, not your problem.

xxx

The night he leaves isn't really different from any other, except Mello's scrounging around the room, hunting up any chocolate bars he might have hidden away, cursing Kira and Near and Roger and anyone he can think of under his breath all the while. You just sit on your bed and play your DS, because you couldn't stop him if you tried, so why bother? All you'd get for your trouble was a bruise or ten. Mello was Mello, and that wasn't going to change any time soon.

"I'm leaving," he says, stating the obvious, just before he walks out the door.

You just roll your eyes and hit continue.

xxx

The Wammy's House can get pretty lonely without a crazy blonde or two around, and after about a year of boredom, you take off. You don't try to find Mello beyond a cursory search, because if he wanted to be found he'd either make some easy trail up for you to follow, or he would find you first.

xxx

He stumbles into your apartment at about two in the morning, and you take one look at him before you pick up the phone to call in some favors.

Mello's the only person who could boss you around while being drugged to the gills with painkillers, you think, but at least he can't hit you when you point out exactly how many kinds of stupid it was to blow up the mafia hide-out while he was sort of still in it.

xxx

You just sigh and say, "Okay," because even though it's a completely reckless and rash and completely fucking stupid plan, it's Mello's reckless and rash and completely fucking stupid plan, and that's all that really matters. Your life shouldn't just be all serious and smart and oh-we've-gotta-catch-Kira-because-he-killed-L-and-blah-blah-blah bullshit. It ought to have some fun in it too, even if it's the kind of fun that is more than likely going to get the both of you killed.

And maybe to Mello it is about catching Kira, but to you it's more about following Mello, because if you stop following him for even a second you're not sure that there'd be anything left of you.

xxx

You hear the gunshots before you feel them, but they don't really hurt which is probably a result of the fact that you're sort of dying. You wonder if you're an idiot for listening to Mello and not just taking off to live somewhere that's not with a total psycho, and you wonder when it stopped being all fun and games and started being real, or if it was always real and you just never cared enough to noticed. You decide that you don't really give a shit and even if you realized how stupid you were being you would have done it anyway, just before you hit the ground.

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I own nothing, blah blah blah. Title and lyrics at the beginning are from Fell Down the Stairs by Tilly and the Wall.


End file.
